


More Like Home

by SWLBarnes



Series: Supernatural Imagines [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Not Beta Read, Other, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-22 20:31:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19996507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SWLBarnes/pseuds/SWLBarnes
Summary: Request from TumblrWhen the reader’s distaste for the bland state of their room at the bunker comes to a head, they set off with Jack to transform it into something more like home.





	More Like Home

It didn’t feel right. No matter what you did, or how you moved the existing items around, it just didn’t feel right. Going on two years of living at the bunker with what Dean had deemed Team Free Will 2.0, you began to realize just how drab you seemed to feel in your given room. While the golden numbers adorning the door, addressing it as room 17, were always a welcoming sight after a long hunt, you couldn’t help but want… more from the interior. 

Sure, you had your fair share of sentimental objects. Your guns and knives were displayed proudly on one wall, always well within reach and easy to dismount if the need to use them arose, which it so often seemed to do. A few pictures cataloging your travels with the boys littered the space, along with your notebooks and other hunting materials scattered about. This was nice, and offered a great reminder that this place was where you slept, but it still didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like home. 

You lay on your back, arms and legs spread out like a starfish pondering this exact idea the day that the bunker’s resident nephilim, Jack Kline, decided to pay you a visit. Your door was already open, but he made a point to stop at the threshold and tap his knuckles against the wooden slab to alert you of his presence. “(Y/N)?” He called to you in question. You made no move to get up, and simply let out a low hum in response. The sound of shuffling footsteps grew ever closer. “Are you alright?”

A sigh escaped your lips at this query. Now, how were you meant to respond to that? Were you okay? In theory, perhaps you were doing just fine, but this answer just didn’t seem to suffice for your mind. So, instead, in a rash decision making moment, you blurted out a simple, “no.”

This seemed to be the wrong answer. Hardly a moment passed before Jack was pulling you up into a sitting position, his eyes wide in panic as they scanned you for any visible injuries. “What’s wrong? What’s happened? How can I help? I want to help, let me fix it!” He blubbered on without end. His hands pressed against your cheeks and he turned your head every which way in an attempt to spot the problem. 

“Jack,” you tried. He continued on. “Jack,” a bit louder this time. His voice grew in volume as well, incoherent gibberish of worry at this point. “Jack!”

Finally, he froze in place. Then, within a moment’s notice, his hands were gone from your skin, and a fresh blush swept up his neck and along his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I meant to say, uhm, what’s wrong? And… how can I help?” 

You furiously fought against the smile tugging at your lips, but in the end your expression won out. A bright grin plastered itself across your face. “I’m actually okay, Jack. You don’t have to worry about anything, alright? I’m okay,” you reassured the nephilim. Even still, his crystalline sapphire gaze ran along your skin in a fervor.

“You’re sad.” This wasn’t even a question, but instead a statement of fact.

“I wouldn’t necessarily say I’m sad, per se,” you tried to ease his tension somewhat. The celestial being was having none of this, and swiftly caught on to the ambiguity of your words.

“But you’re not happy.”

Your nose wrinkled in thought. The nephilim was smarter than he ever dared to let on, and definitely more observant than your fellow housemates saw him for. “I’ll be okay, Jack. I’m just thinking, is all.” 

The boy pulled his legs up onto the bed, crossing his legs over each other criss cross style to face you fully. Comfy sweatpants covered his legs and a soft knitted sweater adorned his torso. Even in the summer months, the bunker could be quite cold, and there was only one reason that you never asked Dean to turn the heating up. As long as the air retains its usual chill, you get the pleasure of seeing a comfortably soft Jack Kline all year round.

Jack reached down and plucked carefully at the fabric of your comforter. A scowl formed on your face at the sight of the thing. It was the same tan sheet that adorned the beds in most every bedroom. It wasn’t special. It wasn’t yours. This room wasn’t yours. Everything was just a constant reminder of that fact.

You had to say, you truly envied the brothers’ abilities to cope in an environment that was so out of your comfort zone. Sam, though you know he had started out his time at the bunker in denial that it would ever become his home, had come around in previous years and began adding personal touches to his own space. The television was an important part of his room, usually playing some of his favorite movies or the local news station to stay updated on current happenings. His favorite books lay scattered on every conceivable surface. Room twenty-one was Sam’s and only Sam’s. Dean’s room held even more of his own personal touches. From the stereo concealing a hefty collection of vinyl records underneath it to the guns adorning the wall to even the countless family photos both taped to his walls and leaning haphazardly against various objects on his desk, room number eleven was undoubtedly the home of one Dean Winchester. 

But room seventeen? It could belong to just about anyone. You had hardly changed a thing since moving in. Most of the room remained in the same pristine state the Men of Letters had left it in all those years ago. It might as well be some random hotel room, capable of housing just about anybody at any time. It wasn’t yours. 

“Jack,” you spoke up suddenly, your mind set. The nephilim peered up at you in question. “Do you want to go into town with me?”

The boy’s brows furrowed in confusion, but he nodded all the same. “Can I ask why?”

Turning to the boy, you cast him a smile. “I’ve gotta make this house a home,” you hummed. Glee dripped from your words at the prospect of finally doing this. You were finally going to make this room your own, and no Winchesters were going to stop you.

-

Sam and Dean let the pair of you go relatively easily. That is, Dean ceased his interrogation once you assured him that you weren’t taking the Impala, driving the point home by jingling the pair of keys in your hand: keys that undoubtedly belonged to the ‘67 Ford Mustang you had brought back to the bunker after having fallen in love with the thing on a hunting trip to an old used car lot. You pocketed some cash and a couple of fraudulent credit cards, and you were on your way.

“So,” Jack began as he buckled the seat belt around his waist, “what exactly are we doing?”

Fair enough question. You hadn’t actually said your plan out loud. Jack was simply excited to spend time outside of the bunker (plus, the fact that it was with you was a real bonus in his eyes). You began to explain as you revved the engine to the old muscle car. “My room is just so… drab, you know? I want to make it feel more like home. So, you and I are going shopping!” The boys eyes lit up at this. “We’re going to go out and find some decorations and maybe we’ll paint the walls and everything. It’s gonna be fun!”

His feet shuffled in excitement. You had a feeling that, had you the ability to see into the boy’s mind, you would see a flurry of thoughts about how he had never been shopping for decorations and renovations before. That much would be true. The hunter’s life didn’t have much time for simple pleasures, so the fact that you were able to give Jack this little glimpse into a normal life sent your heart aflutter.

The ride into town felt shorter than usual, likely to do with the company you kept and your own choice of music permeating the air. Jack’s head bobbed along with the beat of the song flowing from the radio. Your hands smacked in tandem against the steering wheel, which the nephilim quickly likened to the eldest Winchester’s own driving habits. You poked your tongue out at Jack in retaliation, reaching out to turn the volume up to block his words out. 

Shopping with Jack was more fun than you could have even imagined it would be. He had such a wonderful reaction to every new thing he experienced, and it was clear that he wanted to soak in every aspect of human culture he possibly could. He was practically bouncing on his heels by the time you made it to the lighting section of the local hardware store. The way the seemingly endless aisle of lamps and lighting fixtures reflected in his irises made it difficult to maintain a casual facade, and you soon found yourself reaching out and grabbing his hand as you made your way through the store. This was normal as ever to the boy, who gripped your hand back just as eagerly and tugged you towards the mirror section.

Choosing a paint color was quite an adventure as well. Jack took this entire ordeal very seriously, especially after you explained to him how your current living situation made you feel. The discomfort you described was utterly unacceptable in his eyes. If a new coat of paint on your walls could alleviate that feeling and make you feel more at home, then the boy was going to do his best to make it the best paint color you had ever seen. That’s why you ended up standing in front of the display of paint swatches for around an hour before he finally allowed you to make a decision. It was all worth it in the end, especially once the paint mixer buzzed to life and Jack’s soft gasp sounded from by your side. He didn’t stop talking about how pretty the colors blending together was on the whole car ride to your next stop.

Item after item got checked off the list inside your mind. Picture frames, a new comforter, fresh pillow cases, professionally printed photos of yourself and the rest of the team, wall art, a soft new rug, little desk ornaments, and basically anything that popped into your mind that would make the space feel more like you. Jack even took it upon himself to buy you both matching art pieces, claiming that he wanted to have a piece of you in his own room to make sure you always felt like you were together. It took all of your willpower not to tear up as he happily placed the framed photos into the shopping cart. 

You arrived back at the bunker just as the last rays of daylight peeked out above the horizon. Jack, of course, insisted on carrying as many shopping bags as he could possibly fit on his arms. He was half angel, he reminded you, therefore weight wasn’t a big deal whatsoever. This made the unpacking process relatively simple, especially once you walked past Sam and Dean and the pair begrudgingly stood up and shuffled through the halls to follow you into the garage and help you with the rest of the bags.

“What’s all this for?” Dean’s voice called with a grunt as he readjusted his hold on the box containing your new nightstand.

You twirled around on your heels so you were walking backwards down the hallway, now facing Dean and Sam. “I decided my room was too… blah. Not enough me, not enough like a home. So, Jack and I went out and bought some stuff and we’re going to redo it! Painting the walls, new furniture, new pictures, the whole shabang. You guys wanna help?” You beamed at the pair of brothers. They shared a questioning look with each other, both shrugging before turning to you and agreeing. 

“Where’d you get the money, anyways?” Sam queried with a furrowed brow. You turned back around and cleared your throat in a bit of an awkward fashion. 

“I might’ve… stolen a couple of debit cards. And also a little credit card fraud. But it’s okay! Because when are we ever really gonna go back to those stores anyways, right?” You passed it off with a chuckle. The beginnings of an argument about how _we don’t do credit card fraud this close to home_ and _if you need to spend money in town then at least get the money legally_ arose from behind you, but it was too late. In a split second you picked up the pace and dashed off down the corridor towards your own room.

-

“No, no no no, not like that,” Dean corrected, reaching out and grabbing the paint roller from Jack’s hand. Only moments prior, the boy had tried to repeatedly press the cylinder against the wall in an attempt to apply the paint. This resulted in a small patch of globular paint right smack in the center of your wall. Your hand pressed firmly against your mouth in an attempt to fight back your laughter.

“I’ve never done this before,” Jack muttered in protest, his cheeks a bright crimson red due to his clear embarrassment. He peered over his shoulder at you, causing you to force back your amusement and offer him an encouraging smile.

“Okay, just… like this. Roll the paint on. That way it’ll be even, alright?” Dean demonstrated how to roll the paint onto the surface properly for a few strokes before offering the roller to the nephilim once again. Jack took the item with a newfound desire to do this right, and he continued to paint the wall in exactly the way that Dean displayed.

Sam emerged from the hallway empty handed, having just arrived back from wherever he decided to put your belongings while you started your renovations. At the moment, the entire room lay barren and empty, save for the paint cans and plastic lining protecting the floor from rogue paint. A thin layer of sweat made the taller brother’s hair lay flat against his forehead. He had done most of the heavy lifting so far. You found this amusing, seeing as Jack’s outlook on carrying heavy items seemed to change so drastically over the past hour or so. It occurred to you that it likely wasn’t the action itself that changed his mind, but perhaps there was an ulterior motive behind his kindness with you. The thought alone made you smile to yourself.

“You’re doing great, Jack!” Sam praised the boy, causing him to perk up significantly. Jack flashed a bright smile as he continued to work. 

Painting didn’t take quite as long as you expected. With the extra two pairs of hands, that meant each of you only had to focus on one wall. Soon enough, the walls were completely coated in your chosen color, and it was time to let them dry. You all took a break to eat dinner, which was filled with conversation about what you wanted your room to look like once it was complete. By the time you finished eating, the paint was dry and you were ready to move everything in. 

Strangely enough, Dean seemed to be the most hellbent on getting the “look” just right. Jack listened to whatever you said and wanted to a T, and Sam leisurely nodded and complied with your wishes as well. Dean, however, seemed to have a vision of sorts. Each time you explained your idea, he would interrupt you with a pitch for a completely different idea. Some worked, and you actually quite liked, others you ended up shooting down immediately. 

You worked all through the night, sharing stories and jokes as you went along. None of you seemed to feel the effects of the all nighter you ended up pulling. The atmosphere seemed too perfect to destroy with even a single yawn or complaint. At one point, as you and Jack worked on putting your new sheets onto your old bed, you couldn’t help but grab one of the pillows and toss it at the back of Dean’s head. Sam seemed to hold back his laughter to the best of his ability as his brother turned around with an all-too-serious look in his eyes. Within seconds, the eldest hunter grabbed the pillow from the floor and leapt up, charging at you with the fluff filled item held over his shoulder in preparation. A screech left your lips, and you bounded over the half made bed to cower behind Jack. And that was how not only Jack’s first pillow fight, but the first ever pillow fight in the bunker began. 

Your phone screen read 5:02 AM by the time you put the last touches on the space. One last flattening of the comforter, a quick check that the pictures on your desk were turned just so, and the final addition: a gun tucked carefully underneath your pillow. That was all it took for your room to be complete.

You turned to the brothers and pulled them both into a hug. You expressed your true gratitude for their willingness to help you at such short notice, and for such a long period of time. Dean insisted that you owed him a new flannel for the fact that a splotch of paint was now visible on the fabric of the one he was wearing, but he retained his easy going smile all the same. Sam wrapped his arms around you and gave you a comforting squeeze, reminding you that he would always be there if you needed him for anything. And with that, they bid you adieu. 

That left just you and Jack in your newly completed room. You made your way over to your reclaimed bed and flopped down on your back, a soft smile adorning your face. A few seconds passed, and you peered over to where Jack still stood, simply watching you in wonder. You offered him a smile and patted the space next to you. He wasted no time as he, too, lay down atop the new sheets. A moment’s silence overtook you both, but it was far from uncomfortable. It felt like more of a mutual understanding. Like nothing need be said, because everything was already understood.

In a moment of surging self confidence, you reached over and grabbed his hand in your own. Your fingers laced together out of pure instinct. Just like back in the store, he reciprocated the affection immediately, even giving your hand a quick squeeze to show that this was okay. 

“Thank you,” you whispered into the tranquil atmosphere. The shuffle of fabric let you know that Jack had readjusted his position to be facing you without needing to see him at all.

“For what?” He asked you, his voice carrying the same soft tone as yours. He, too, clearly sensed the importance of this moment, and what it meant in the grand scheme of a hunter’s life. Moments like this don’t exist for hunters. Lives like this aren’t possible. But maybe, for just one second, you can pretend. Maybe you can pretend that this is a home, and that this is possible. Maybe you can pretend that your life can have something this good in it.

“For everything, really,” you began quite simply. You gazed blankly up at the empty expanse of your ceiling, wondering if Dean would ever let you live it down if you decided to put up those little glow in the dark stars. “I haven’t felt like this was my own space for… so long. It’s always felt like I’m just a guest, and that this is temporary. I keep waiting to have to pack up and leave for the next place. I even started avoiding this room altogether just so I didn’t have to face that feeling anymore. But after today?” You finally turned your head to look at the nephilim, only to find him gazing at you already with a look of pure awe. “You changed that, Jack. You helped me to make this something I can be proud of. I can feel comfortable and safe here, now. And I don’t think I would’ve taken that leap if I didn’t have you by my side.”

Slowly, the boy’s lips began to turn up into a smile. It wasn’t the smile he had been flashing all night. It wasn’t a bright, blindingly overjoyed grin that seemed to always split his face in half and fill the room with light. No, this smile was different. This smile was soft, and it carried the weight of everything the pair of you weren’t sure you should say. It was all you needed to see, and you let your head fall back down onto the soft sheets beneath you. 

The silence stretched on, but it didn’t matter. No words needed to be said for you to realize what you learned that morning, just as the sun began to color the sky a soft pink and the birds awoke with their song. This was a home, and it was your home. This was not temporary. This was your family. And this wasn’t pretending. You deserve the happiness and the love of that moment, basking in the relief of finding where you belong. You had found the good you needed, and you were going to hold onto it for as long as you possibly could.


End file.
